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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806704">hope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs'>daisylincs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Staticquake Advent [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Advent Event, F/M, Relationship Introspective, Relationship Study, Staticquake Advent, Theme: Hope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:35:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You gave me <b>hope,</b> a place in the world. <i>Let me do the same for you." </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lincoln Campbell/Skye | Daisy Johnson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Staticquake Advent [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>me: *invents a new challenge for myself*<br/>me: *is three weeks late for my own challenge*<br/>me: omfg<br/>me: though… is anyone even surprised?<br/>me: *cringes*<br/>me: ...Staticquake? 🥺</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Skye felt like a stranger in her own body. Everything about her felt… different. <em>Wrong. </em></p>
<p>Her senses, for example. It was like she could hear…<em> more, </em>but simultaneously she wasn't hearing anything. She could also <em>see </em>things, sometimes, little patterns in the airand between people, patterns that couldn't possibly be there. And sometimes, when she looked at an object that had seemed perfectly normal before, that <em>should still be </em>perfectly normal - it was like she could sense what it looked like on the <em>inside. </em>Its <em>structure, </em>to put it in Jemma's words. </p>
<p>Her perception of herself had also changed - she felt like her body was <em>blurrier, </em>fuzzier around the edges, somehow, like she was sensing herself from an entirely different angle. </p>
<p>There was also a constant, dull buzzing in her head, like a swarm of angry bees at the base of her scalp. It wasn't a headache, like she had first thought - hoped - it was; because it was literally that, a <em>buzzing. </em></p>
<p>Headaches were crappy, but they didn't <em>buzz. </em></p>
<p>And that scared her. All of it. </p>
<p>She didn't know what this was, she didn't understand it, and she couldn't <em>control </em>it. </p>
<p>She tried to stay calm, to follow her training, to believe May's quiet but forceful "you can <em>do </em>it, Skye." </p>
<p>But when she watched an entire forest crash to the ground in front of <em>her hands, </em>watched a shard of jagged treetrunk stab a man through the chest, watched Bobbi go flying like a rag doll… she couldn't keep the panic at bay anymore. </p>
<p>"Gordon," she whispered into the night, a desperate cry for help. </p>
<p>And Gordon came to her, whisked her away from the forest and the agents and the destruction <em>she </em>had caused. </p>
<p>When she woke up, she couldn't move - and she didn't recognise a thing around her. </p>
<p>She felt the panic swell in her again, panic and <em>anger </em>- but then Gordon came, and reassured her, promised her she was safe. </p>
<p>Then she met <em>him. </em></p>
<p>He had blue eyes. That was the first thing she noticed, coupled with the ridiculous memory of herself, nearly sixteen years younger, huddled under a blanket in her foster sister's bed (this had been when she was still <em>trying, </em>trying to be liked) and whispering to said foster sister, "I want <em>my</em> boyfriend to have blue eyes. I like blue eyes." </p>
<p>
  <em>I like blue eyes. </em>
</p>
<p>Unfortunately, that was still true - and this guy, whoever he was, had bright blue eyes. </p>
<p>
  <em>Really helpful, mind. </em>
</p>
<p>The next thing she noticed was that he had the most <em>ridiculous </em>hair - sticking up in all directions like he had a permanent case of static electricity, the kind you got after jumping on a trampoline for too long. (Later, she'd laugh and congratulate herself over <em>that</em> particular observation.) </p>
<p>The third thing she noticed, pretty much as soon as he opened his mouth and started blathering on about <em>popcorn, </em>of all things, was that he was a total dumbass. </p>
<p>
  <em>Why are the pretty ones always so dumb? </em>
</p>
<p>Again, a really helpful observation. Her brain was <em>really </em>trying today, it seemed. May'd give her five hundred push-ups if she ever found out. </p>
<p>The thought of her SO was enough to sober her up, and she quickly asked the much more relevant questions, curt and agent-like.</p>
<p>But he wouldn't get annoyed at her, and answered all her questions with what seemed to be complete honesty, and, <em>worse, </em>sympathy in his clear blue eyes. </p>
<p>He was so <em>easy-going, </em>and so… <em>nice, </em>like he didn't <em>get </em>that there was something seriously wrong with her. </p>
<p>It <em>infuriated </em>her. </p>
<p>Lincoln - because that was Pretty-Dumb-And-Annoying's name - seemed determined to prove her wrong on all counts, though. (Except the <em>pretty boy </em>thing, unfortunately. That… did not change.) </p>
<p>But the other things… well, he took her up to the mountain, where the air was clear and fresh, and the birds chirped happily away in the trees off to their left. The whole place radiated peace, and despite herself, Skye relaxed a little. </p>
<p>She couldn't remember the last time she had had the chance to stand <em>outside </em>and just listen to the birds, and enjoy a spectacular view. </p>
<p>Lincoln couldn't have known that, right? He had to have <em>guessed</em> that this place would calm her. </p>
<p>It was a very good guess. </p>
<p>There was something shrewd in his blue eyes as he looked at her, and she had to concede for the first time (very grudgingly) that maybe he <em>wasn't </em>that dumb. </p>
<p>He was good at guessing things about her, at any rate. </p>
<p>And she soon saw why - he was <em>like her. </em></p>
<p>He offered her his hand, and she actively had to bite back a sharp, sarcastic <em>no way in hell, dude. </em></p>
<p>But he explained it away, ducking his head in a way that was honestly <em>far </em>too cute, and joking about the awkwardness of it all… and when he looked back up at her, something in his clear blue eyes prompted her to trust him. </p>
<p>She couldn't have said what it was, really - it was just an inkling, an <em>intuition, </em>almost. But she thought of what May would always say - <em>trust your gut. </em></p>
<p>So she did. </p>
<p>She slipped her hand into his. </p>
<p>And she felt… <em>sparks. </em></p>
<p>At first she thought she was going crazy, or that she was imagining things - but then she actually <em>saw </em>them, tiny blue sparks of static electricity. </p>
<p>And Lincoln grinned at her. </p>
<p>She saw, then, that he really <em>was</em> exactly like her - and, more than that, he <em>understood </em>her, and understood what she was going through. </p>
<p>"When I first got here, I nearly burned the place down," he admitted, blue eyes frank. </p>
<p>And that, more than anything, was what got Skye to trust him - and what prompted, for the first time in what had been a very long few weeks, a fragile flower of hope to bloom in her chest. </p>
<p>Because if he had nearly burned the place down at first, just like she had nearly torn it all apart, but he could <em>control it now, </em>could make something extraordinary of it (to put it in his own words)... that had to mean she could, too.</p>
<p>She <em>wasn't </em>alone. She <em>wasn't </em>a monster. </p>
<p>That realisation meant more to her than she could possibly say in words - the thought that, whatever this change was inside of her, she wasn't entirely alone in it. It <em>was </em>possible to learn to get past it, and it <em>could </em>get better. Lincoln was living proof of that - living proof who, she had to admit, was really <em>not </em>that dumb after all. A little bit annoying, <em>sure. </em>But more in a dorky and regrettably cute kind of way than in an actually annoying way. And as for the <em>pretty </em>part of it… well, no comment there, <em>thank you very much. </em></p>
<p>Slowly, the state of desperate confusion and near-constant panic she had been living in for the past few days started to melt away, piece by piece. </p>
<p>Because, yes, she was different, there was no doubt about that. </p>
<p>But as she floated above the ground, an incredulous laugh on her lips and miniature spheres of electricity crackling under her boots, she thought for the first time that maybe, maybe that wasn't a bad thing. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Skye's head pounded with a steady, dull ache, and her vision swam in and out as she struggled to heave herself to her feet. She felt… drained, drained all over. </p>
<p>Because that was what she <em>was, </em>wasn't she? Drained. Her mother - her own <em>mother</em> - had tried to drain the very life from her. </p>
<p>She didn't know how long she had been lying on the deck of the Iliad, but when she looked up, her father was still there, cradling her mother's body in his lap. </p>
<p>She sensed with an instinctive kind of certainty that this was not a moment she should disturb and, much as her body ached and her vision blurred more still, she pulled herself to her feet and made for the door in the Iliad. </p>
<p>Cal didn't look up as she passed, not even when she bumped painfully hard against the side door leading into the Iliad. </p>
<p>She held there for a moment, her eyes screwed up and her breathing ragged, fighting the dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm her body. </p>
<p>Then she pushed off the door and on into the ship. </p>
<p>It was deserted - everywhere she looked, <em>no-one. </em>And she needed… she desperately, desperately needed someone now, preferably May, and her gruff but deeply sincere comfort. </p>
<p>Her throat started to close up, and her vision swam dangerously, purplish-black spots dancing at the edges of her periphery. Gasping, she clutched the side of the ship to keep upright, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to keep the worst of the dizziness at bay. </p>
<p><em>"Skye!" </em>The voice was shocked, but familiar - <em>Lincoln. </em></p>
<p>He rushed over immediately, putting a firm arm around her shoulders to steady her and, when she swayed dangerously against him, guiding her to sit on the floor. </p>
<p>Dimly, she heard him asking all the right questions - <em>what are you doing, what happened - </em>and just as dimly, she heard herself replying. </p>
<p>
  <em>My mom. My dad. Draining. I - </em>
</p>
<p>She didn't know if she actually managed anything coherent, but Lincoln seemed to get the gist of it. He put his hands on her shaking shoulders, and his voice was soft as he spoke gentle reassurances into the passage. </p>
<p>What, exactly, he said, Skye couldn't have repeated, but his voice took her back to the quiet moments in Afterlife - playing board games and teasing each other with their powers (him using static electricity to bump her checkers piece and her, once she had gained a little more control, getting her revenge by gently quaking the table and jostling the backgammon board to scramble their pieces), eating popcorn on her bed (and making it a daily thing once she realised just how bad Afterlife's kale chips were), going up to the mountain again and just <em>talking, </em>for hours, about his family and hers. </p>
<p>And gradually, as she listened to his voice and ran through the memories in her mind, her breathing started to calm, and her vision to clear. </p>
<p>In the midst of one of the craziest, most terrifying times of her <em>life, </em>she had made a friend; a friend who understood her in a way nobody else really could (especially not after… the thing with her mother) and, to turn her thoughts back onto a lighter track, a friend who never failed to make her laugh with his stupid jokes. </p>
<p>Lincoln's hands were steady on her shoulders, and <em>warm, </em>and she knew instinctively that he wasn't going anywhere, not until he was sure she was going to be okay. </p>
<p>That was exactly what she needed just then. </p>
<p>And she thought - if she could make a friend in <em>that </em>time, a friend who cared this much and understood her this well, a friend who had managed to persuade her she'd be <em>okay </em>despite it all… if all <em>that </em>could be true, then surely she would be okay after <em>this </em>challenge, too? </p>
<p>She could hope. </p>
<p>Especially if <em>he </em>was there. </p>
<p>And… he was. </p>
<p>Skye placed her hands on top of Lincoln's on her shoulders, and squeezed. </p>
<p>She <em>did </em>hope. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p><em>Daisy</em> - and, tease Coulson as she might, the name was still a little strange on her tongue, too - had been trying to deny it to herself for weeks now (months, if she was honest, but she had let herself use Jemma's disappearance as a distraction), but as she watched the video feed of Joey Gutierrez sitting with his head in his hands, she knew she couldn't avoid the truth much longer. </p>
<p>Joey needed help, and the person who could give it to him best was <em>Lincoln</em>. </p>
<p>Only, deny it to herself as she might, Daisy <em>knew </em>that he wouldn't want to help. </p>
<p>Oh, she didn't want to believe it. But the same way he instinctively knew and understood her, <em>she </em>knew and understood <em>him. </em></p>
<p>They were the same - different on the outside, of course, and inevitably different in small ways, but for the most part? They were the same. </p>
<p>And she knew exactly where Lincoln was now - the same dark, furious and depressed place <em>she </em>had been so many times when foster parents had let her down. The same place she would be now, probably, if she hadn't had that experience, and… <em>him, </em>helping her. </p>
<p>She knew she needed to help him. She knew she <em>could. </em></p>
<p>But he wouldn't listen to her, and he wouldn't <em>let </em>himself be helped. </p>
<p>Frustrated as it made her, she <em>understood </em>that, too. She herself never accepted help, never sought it out, until there was <em>absolutely </em>no other option - like, you know, when you tore down a forest with your bare hands. That kind of thing. </p>
<p>But, no. Lincoln was too similar to her there. </p>
<p>And when the blue-grey Inhuman-killing monster - <em>Lash - </em>attacked, he used that as an excuse to run away, to try and cut her out. </p>
<p>She hated that that was exactly what she would have done, too. </p>
<p>But then he reached <em>his </em>forest-crash point, and he called her. </p>
<p>She came immediately, just like he'd do for her, and she tried to talk to him, to give him the same inspiring words that he'd once given her. </p>
<p>Again, though, he was too <em>like her </em>- they worked on actions, on concrete proofs. For her, it had been his powers, and the realisation that it <em>was </em>possible to learn to control them, <em>extraordinarily </em>so. </p>
<p>And, yes, the words helped, of course they did. </p>
<p>But especially when she was in a spiral of panic and loss and confusion and <em>searching for a place, </em>she needed that concrete proof. </p>
<p>And she knew he did too. </p>
<p>So she kissed him. </p>
<p>Alright, maybe it was an… unconventional choice, and maybe it wasn't her <em>smartest</em> choice, because Mack was still on comms. </p>
<p>But it <em>did </em>show, and rather indisputably so, that she <em>cared. </em></p>
<p>(And, fine, maybe she <em>had </em>been wanting to try that for a little longer than a while. It was the blue eyes, she swore.) </p>
<p>But the point was - Lincoln got it. He got what she was saying, both with words and without. </p>
<p>And for the briefest of moments, his eyes flared with <em>hope</em>. Trust, too. <em>Compassion. </em></p>
<p>She reached for his hand and squeezed, and she knew they were both thinking, <em>maybe it </em>can<em> be okay. </em></p>
<p>They did that for each other. It was simple, it was <em>them, </em>and it was… beautiful. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Daisy showed Lincoln off the quinjet and into the base proper, unable to help walking just a little bit in front of him, half-shielding him from the gazes that followed them down the hallways. </p>
<p>She showed him to the bunk right next door to hers, remembering with a small wince the protesting look Coulson had given her (followed by a speech - a <em>speech - </em>about safe relationships and what she deserved (nothing less than the best, apparently.)) She <em>also </em>remembered Jemma's tiny smirk as she overheard said speech - but this she minded a lot less, since she didn't think Jemma had smiled properly since getting back through that rock. </p>
<p>She told Lincoln that in as many words, making it clear that she was right next door if he needed anything. </p>
<p>He must have seen Simmons's smirk, too, because he replied with a not-so-subtle suggestive raise of his eyebrows, "anything at <em>all?"</em> </p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, snickering despite herself, and punched him in the arm. </p>
<p>But unfortunately for him, using humour to deflect was one of her stand-out coping mechanisms, too. </p>
<p>So she shook her head, crossing her arms and holding his gaze for nearly a full minute until he conceded, ducking his head and promising her, sincerely, that he would remember that. </p>
<p>Still, she lingered, and his eyes softened.</p>
<p>"I don't want you to be uncomfortable here," she said, taking advantage of the softer moment. "I know you didn't want to come, and the circumstances were much less than ideal. But I hope…" </p>
<p>She bit her lip, not sure how to say it. She hoped… she hoped he would find something worth staying for, worth <em>fighting </em>for, here, the way she had. </p>
<p>The way she had <em>needed </em>to, and the way he needed to, as well. </p>
<p>Unable to say it in words, she stepped forward and hugged him, ignoring the prickle of surprise she sensed from him and leaning close against him. </p>
<p>She didn't try to speak, just closed her eyes and held onto him, letting him know as best she could without words that they <em>would </em>figure it out together. </p>
<p>And when he eventually stepped away from her, something of the sparkle in his eyes was back. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Working at SHIELD, while it had given her that sense of purpose she had always wanted and needed, could also get incredibly stressful. Nothing ever went to plan, and there was always some hidden variable they couldn't suspect. </p>
<p>And, always, the niggling fear in the back of her mind as she stood in every briefing that <em>this would be the time someone didn't come back.</em></p>
<p>She knew it was an irrational fear,that all her friends (her <em>people) </em>were the best at their jobs, and they wouldn't just die out there. </p>
<p>But still. It wasn't <em>such </em>an irrational fear - this was SHIELD, after all. </p>
<p>And the more missions she took, the worse it seemed to get. It was like she learned about more and more creative ways for things to go <em>wrong </em>with everything she did. </p>
<p>And often, as she stood in mission briefings, listening to the risks pile up and <em>up, </em>she felt the fears rise like bile in her throat. </p>
<p>She doubted anyone knew - she was good, <em>too </em>good, at hiding it, and keeping her attitude brisk and focused on the mission. </p>
<p>Focusing on the mission and the mission alone <em>did </em>help, though, because it meant she knew she was giving it her utter best, and she'd succeed and keep everyone safe because of it. </p>
<p>But sometimes, when they were standing side by side listening to Coulson, Lincoln would just lightly brush his shoulder against hers, or reach for her hand and give it a quick squeeze - and almost immediately, Daisy felt some of the tension and fear drain away. </p>
<p>She wasn't alone, and she didn't have to face things alone. </p>
<p>She also wasn't going to <em>be </em>alone anytime soon, if he had anything to say about it. </p>
<p>And, logically, she knew that - but she wasn't Jemma, running on pure logic and science, and it really <em>helped</em>, sometimes, to just have that reminder. That tiny hope<em>. </em></p>
<p>And she knew Lincoln needed that too, especially before and during those missions where she could recklessly throw herself into harm's way. </p>
<p>So she tried to give it to him, too, taking a second during missions to rest her hand against his shoulder, or brush deliberately close against his side when passing him to check a room or hallway. </p>
<p>It wasn't much. But it was enough to ease the worst of the stress and worry, and let a tiny bloom of hope and reassurance shine through. </p>
<p>It was an unconventional system, to be sure - but then again, their entire <em>lives </em>were a study in unconventionality. </p>
<p>They made it work. </p>
<p>// </p>
<p>Daisy didn't know when the future had stopped scaring her. As an orphan, she had never had much luxury with daydreaming about pleasant futures - and even when she <em>had </em>the times, year after year of bitter rejections had wrung any such sentiment out of her. </p>
<p>But something was different now. </p>
<p>She came home after missions to a team of people, a <em>family, </em>waiting for her with warm arms and teasing smiles and plenty of stories to share around the dinner table. People who she could <em>talk </em>to without counting every word in fear that one slip would send her onto the streets, who shared the same interests as she did, and who actually, genuinely, <em>cared </em>about her. </p>
<p>And more than that - because for the first time ever, she had a <em>more than that </em>- she came home to someone she could really call a <em>partner, </em>in every sense of the word. </p>
<p>Lincoln was the Fitz to her Simmons, to put it in hopeful terms (because, yeah, those two idiots still hadn't <em>quite </em>managed to figure out how perfect they were for each other.) </p>
<p>Seriously, though. He understood her in ways that the others, special as they were to her, never could - there was just no way she could explain what having powers was <em>like, </em>what it was <em>like </em>to be an Inhuman. Because it <em>did </em>make a difference to her, and to how she saw herself. </p>
<p>And it was so <em>nice, </em>after a mission, or just after a <em>day, </em>really, to come back to her bunk and know she didn't have to explain any of that. She could just collapse into bed and feel his warm arms wrap around her, and complain or just tell him about her day, and feel his warm breath tickle the back of her neck as he laughed, or said something comforting and sweet (and inevitably pun-related) that would invariably make her feel better. </p>
<p>She could just relax back completely and pillow her on his chest, and, if she really wanted, she could tip her head sideways and up and sneak a kiss. </p>
<p>And she knew he would be there to meet her - and she didn't just mean in the bed. (Though… <em>definitely </em>that, too. She had no complaints.)</p>
<p>No, but she knew that, in a mission or when she just needed to talk, on a lazy morning or when they were rushed off their feet with paperwork, Lincoln would have her back. He'd be <em>there,</em> to hold her, comfort her, joke with her, bring her lunch when she forgot, tease her friends over dinner with her, and have playful power competitions with her. He'd be there to understand, support and care about her her no matter what, and she'd do the same thing for him. </p>
<p>And Daisy had <em>never </em>thought she would have anything like this. </p>
<p>Once, in her more rebellious teenaged years, she had thought she would date a girl, just to rock the boat a little. </p>
<p>But even then, she had never dared fix her hopes on something solid, something <em>real - </em>because that was just setting herself up for a disappointment, setting herself up for a hope she would inevitably use. </p>
<p>The future, she had learned to believe, wasn't something she could ever rely on. It <em>certainly </em>wasn't something you could trust, and look forward to. </p>
<p>But for the first time in her life, she felt like that wasn't true anymore. </p>
<p>She didn't know when it had changed. Maybe it had been somewhere along a relatively quiet month of Saturdays, where nothing much had happened except for Fitz and Hunter having a spectacular prank war to cheer Jemma up, and Lincoln sneakily joining in at the very end, using his powers to beat them both, much to Jemma's amusement. </p>
<p>Maybe it had been the waking up through this month of quiet Saturdays, Lincoln's heartbeat in her ears and warm body against hers the first things she sensed each morning. </p>
<p>Maybe it had been the walking down to the Playground's kitchen to meet May for coffee (well, she had coffee, May most definitely had tea) wearing only Lincoln's old sweatshirt and a brazen smirk that would have had her on paperwork duty for the next ten years if Coulson ever found out. </p>
<p>Maybe it was all of these things. </p>
<p>But whatever had been the cause, the effects were right there - Daisy wasn't afraid of the future anymore. </p>
<p>If anything, she looked forward to it - looked forward to each new day with her friends, her <em>family, </em>and her partner. </p>
<p>And, no, there wasn't anything certain about it, of course. It was the future, after all - you could never <em>really</em> know. </p>
<p>But for the first time in her life, Daisy <em>hoped </em>for it. </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Fin. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
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